


Just a Beginning

by Kitty_KatAllie



Series: Do You Believe in Fairies? [3]
Category: Harvest Moon: Animal Parade
Genre: Bisexual!Chase, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, T warning basically for Chase's dirty fucking mouth, eventual mlm but not here, muaha will they won't they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/pseuds/Kitty_KatAllie
Summary: Second Timestamp: Chase's EventThe rag squeaked against glass as his wrist twisted expertly.  He was bored out of his mind and he wished he were cooking up some delicious dishes instead, but at least he could do his simple tasks with perfection. Not that Hayden really minded how well the cocktail glasses gleamed with not a single finger print smudge in sight. The bushy-haired man was chatting amiably with Ramsey and Dale at one of the tables, laughing and joking over who knew what. Chase definitely didn’t, and he definitely didn’t care, either.Just like he didn’t care that the rockheaded Gravel guy was waving for another drink.





	Just a Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, posted without the A/N! So, I hope you're maybe a little bit surprised about this maybe-future-couple!? Here's to hoping you like it, despite how left field it is. (This isn't even the most left field one yet, so, tighten those bootstraps.) This is this fortnight's update, so the main storyline will be update two weeks from now~ Again, while there ARE hints that they're endgame, don't hold your breath. There's a lot of story left and who knows what'll happen.
> 
> Also, just a warning, I don't hold back on Chase being an asshole. I actually like him MORE now that I'm not making excuses for him or "trying" to like the game did. Yeah, no. Some people are assholes, but you just can't help but love em. He IS capable of kindness, as seen here, but he is, no doubts about it, an asshole with a sharp tongue. He kinda reminds me of Stiles Stilinski, so no complaints from me! LOL
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting!!! I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

The rag squeaked against glass as his wrist twisted expertly. Chase held up the glass to his eye, peered closely, and set it aside with none too little satisfaction at a job well done. He was bored out of his mind and he wished he were cooking up some delicious dishes instead, but at least he could do his simple tasks with perfection. Not that Hayden really minded how well the cocktail glasses gleamed with not a single finger print smudge in sight. The bushy-haired man was chatting amiably with Ramsey and Dale at one of the tables, laughing and joking over who knew what. Chase definitely didn’t, and he definitely didn’t care, either.

Just like he didn’t care that the rockheaded Gravel guy was waving for another drink.

Probably his fourth and it wasn’t even midnight.

Chase frowned and wished that Kathy were here. The lucky blonde was out gadding about with all the other ladies of Castanet, crammed into Tallesin’s shitty shack of a house a good thirty minute fast-paced walk away (and he knew the timing because he had to walk past there every friggin’ afternoon). If she had been just in the back, taking a night off for the fuck of it or even just on a well-deserved break, he would’ve gone and dragged her in just to kick Gravel out with her special brand of motherly, ass-kicking concern. With a soft sigh, Chase pulled a carton out of the mini-fridge, poured the dark purple liquid into a frosty glass, and made his way over to Gravel.

The glass thudded to the table top, the liquid inside sloshing dangerously close to the brim. He glared down at Gravel as he took a thirsty gulp and immediately almost-choked.

“Wha’ in the worl’?” Gravel wheezed around coughs.

“It’s called grape _juice_.”

“Thas’s not wha’ I orderded,” Gravel slurred in guileless confusion, looking up at Chase with baffled eyes that were hypnotically dark against his fair features.

Chase’s piercing scowl met Gravel’s stupidly wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t care. That’s what you get. I ain’t a bartender.”

Gravel hiccupped quietly, the alcohol-soaked gears in his brain turning. “’sokay. Juss’ put shome gin in a cup, it don’ gotta be a cot’tail.”

For some reason, Gravel’s encouraging smile alongside that dishearteningly, amiable request only had Chase’s hackles rising even further. He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped the toe of his flipflop against the wooden floor.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a drunk?” Chase demanded tartly.

Gravel blinked owlishly, then burst into shoulder-shaking, belly-heaving laughter, head thrown back. Either he was too drunk to be offended or just too… _him_.

The day of the circus, and the entertaining night that followed, flashed in Chase’s mind. Gravel had been so easy-going and fun, laughing and encouraging everyone, not shy for a minute, and careless with hugs and back-pats. The chef could still remember the warm, heavy weight of Gravel’s thick, muscled arm around his neck and the long line of heat his body had created pressed against Chase’s. It hadn’t felt… bad. To fit so easily as part of a group he’d bristled against for weeks. Months.  It’d been nice– to be accepted so easily and completely by the big, happy-go-lucky man.

The same man now pickling himself in alcohol as he did too many times a week. Chase grimaced, pissed at allowing himself care about these backwards asshats who didn’t give a fuck about themselves or their own town. No one doing anything to fix their problems or make their lives easier. Instead, just wasting away with their shitty little town in the middle of nowhere and refusing to leave.

He didn’t come here to _care_.

He should’ve left months ago. Why hadn’t he been able to?

Gravel’s ridiculous donkey-braying ended and he wiped at his streaming eyes. “Yeh don’ hold nuthun back, do ya?” Gravel asked, wobbling forward to lean on his elbows. Chase rolled his eyes and nudged the grape juice closer.

“Finish drinking your juice, you giant man-child.”

Gravel merely chuckled and glugged another mouthful down. Chase spun on his heel and stormed back to the kitchen, fuming. What was he doing? Sticking his nose where it didn’t belong? This wasn’t like him! The arguments hashed out in his brain, recriminations and irritated profanity bouncing in his skull, even while his hands automatically moved without much notice from himself. Two plates heaping with steaming seafood pilaf were set on the tray before he managed to stop himself, and another glass of grape juice, plus a cup of extra-pulpy OJ, were set next to the plates. He strode his way back to the table where Gravel was blinking unsteadily at the far wall, looking lost and…

Chase almost stumbled as his heart gave a painful wrench. The redheaded man looked _sad_. Ridiculously, heartbrokenly _sad_.

Chase cleared his throat– as well as his expression– before setting the food and juice down on the table. Elegantly and haughtily, he slipped into the chair catty-corner to Gravel and handed out napkins and utensils. Gravel bemusedly blinked his startling grey eyes at Chase.

“It’s my break,” Chase lied carelessly. Not like Hayden would call him out when he was too busy gabbing to notice and Kathy unable to relieve him for an actual break anyway.

“Huh, okay.”

There was another slight pause, but Gravel finally dug in with gusto. Another kind of satisfaction filled Chase at the sight of the rockhead shoveling _Chase’s_ food into his mouth with genuine enjoyment. Nothing gave Chase so much pleasure as seeing someone eat and love his food. Even drunk, dirty miners with sad eyes.

Gravel leaned back in his chair, hands patting his stomach as he sighed contentedly. Chase very carefully kept his gaze on his plate instead of accidentally looking too long at the flat tummy going a little soft around the edges that Gravel was rubbing absently. His eyes were a lot clearer and his movements not so wild and uncontrolled. He was still a little off balance, but the food and juice soaked up a great deal of his drunken buzz. Chase scooped up the last of his pilaf, smug with triumph.

“Didn’ think yeh were the carin’ n’ sharin’ type,” Gravel spoke up suddenly. Chase looked up, one eyebrow arching upward (he’d spent months perfecting the look in high school). Gravel had moved again, leaning forward on his elbow, his square, barely scruffy chin braced on the heel of his palm. Chase idly wondered if Owen’s facial hair grew out to be as red as the rest of his hair.

Chase scoffed quietly, quickly looking down at his empty plate once more. Neutral territory. Switzerland even. A porcelain plate much safer grounds than the lughead next to him. “Who said anything about sharing _or_ caring? I just made too much pilaf and watching you drink yourself stupid and alone was pathetic.”

Gravel snorted messily and Chase grimaced in disgust at him.

“I don’ b’lieve that a’all,” Gravel argued, smirking in the most _aggravating_ fashion.

Chase rolled his eyes before he could help himself, too sharp snark dripping from his mouth defensively, “Good for you. You created an independent thought. Too bad it’s _wrong_.”

Gravel laughed again– that absurd booming laugh that warmed something cold and all too carefully hidden in Chase. He sipped at his orange juice and pretended his face didn’t feel hot.

“Yer kinda a asshole,” Gravel said past his chuckles. Chase huffed and sneered. But the miner sounded so _fond_ , and Chase’s face was _definitely_ hot. In fact, he felt hot all over. It wasn’t even summer yet. What was up with the weather in this shitty corner of nowhere?!

“ _An_ asshole,” Chase corrected snippily.

Gravel grinned. “E’scuse me.”

“Don’t you need to go home? Get some sleep before you go bang rocks around or whatever it is you do all day,” Chase retorted cattily.

“I don’ _bang_ _rocks ‘round_ ,” Gravel objected, actually almost offended. It was hilarious to see that moronic face get frowny. Like it didn’t fit right. Chase’s eyes darted away when he realized just how closely he was staring. “I make stuff.”

Laughter burst out of Chase before he could hold it back, surprised out of him at the sulky yet proud way Gravel had declared his skills.

“You make stuff. I see. Pretty baubles and jewelry?” Chase taunted, pressing his loose fist to his mouth to physically push the laughter back in.

But it was too late. Those grey eyes were twinkling with mirth in Chase’s direction and he couldn’t pull his own violet-eyed gaze away.

“Nah, man, useful stuff! I make stuff people _need_ , like axes n’ hammers ‘n hoes ‘n… ‘n nails! _Ugh_ , s’many nails,” he groaned the last bit, as if in pain at the remembrance. Again, snickers spilled out of Chase’s mouth without his permission.

“I suppose there are never enough nails?” His teasing didn’t sound so sharp or sour, merely playful. Gravel responded in kind, sighing loudly and wearily, eyes cast heavenward and his large, rough hand dragging through his shorn hair.

“Never ‘nough,” he agreed dramatically.

Chase got to his feet, reaching for the plates as he shook his head exasperatedly.

That large, rough hand was suddenly wrapped around Chase’s wrist. Chase wasn’t one to consider himself dainty or small, despite his more metrosexual fashion sense and typically "feminine" features. But Gravel’s callused, too-hot hand completely enveloped his wrist and pinned him in place. He lifted stunned eyes to Gravel’s and saw something desperate and alarmed in those shadowed depths.

“Are yeh leavin’?” he asked in a low rough voice. Chase slowly sunk back into his chair.

“I was just going to clean up a bit,” he answered quietly. He hadn’t yet pulled away, couldn’t, and not just because of the strength in that hand holding on his arm.

“Cin it wait?”

Chase made a show of looking around the bar– still mostly empty– and smirked at Gravel. “I think so. The rush may be coming any minute now, though.”

Relief loosened his tense shoulders as Gravel rewarded Chase’s sarcasm with another belly-shaking guffaw.

“Gravel–”

“Wha? It’s Owen, man,” he interrupted up, looking confused and adorable with his disgusted expression scrunching up his nose like a little boy.

Chase shook his head. _Adorable? This behemoth, mutton-head of a man? What am I thinking?_

“All right, _Owen_ ,” Chase conceded. A sweet, wide smile stretched across Owen’s face at the concession. “Why are you here alone?”

The smile wiped away immediately and Chase barely kept from frowning in disappointment. Owen balanced his fork on a single tine between the table top and his index fingertip. It spun lazily and wobbling beneath the pad of his finger until he moved his hand away and it clattered on wooden surface.

“I messed up,” Owen muttered finally, just as Chase was ready to drop it and leave for the bar. He stared at Owen, but kept his lips sealed. Waiting. Another soft exhale, and Owen spoke up a little louder and clearer, “I messed up bad. You know me ‘n Kat?”

Chase nodded his head to the side in agreement. “Been dating since you were teenagers, right?”

Owen’s dry, crackling chortle did _not_ sound either humorous or like Owen. At all. Chase’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise at the cynical sound. It sounded like _him_ and he didn’t like it coming from Owen. He had to resist the urge to shake the sound out of his ears.

“She’s at Evie’s, partyin’ up with the girls, ‘cuz we never dated. This whole time. I was holdin’ her back, Chase, an’ she finally got sick o’ it. Told me where t’shove it, basically,” Owen explained harshly. “Wish I had another cocktail fer this. Too sober now.”

“Wait, what? Everyone knew you two were dating!” Chase exclaimed in shock. His back went up in Owen’s defense. Whatever was going through Kathy’s deluded head, it had obviously torn Owen up. If she was done with their high school romance, the least she could’ve done was not _party_ about it afterwards! “Castanet sucks, Maya’s cooking kills pests better than spray, and you and Kathy have been dating since you were in diapers. Those are the facts of this sad little shithole. What the hell was her problem that she would just–”

“No, don’ you say nuthun ‘bout Kat,” Owen interrupted fiercely. Chase started in his chair, blinking rapidly. For a moment, Owen looked _furious_ , like a man who actually swung a hammer and hauled loads more than twice Chase’s weight. Then, it crumbled and there was just a sad overgrown boy at Chase’s side again. “She was _right_. The whole time, she was _right_. It was my fault, Chase.” Owen said it almost desperately, his hands shaking where they were clasped too tightly together on the table top. “It was my fault.”

“Okay, whatever, I’m sorry about talking down Kathy, but you gotta explain this a little better for me, Gravel,” Chase assured him, words waspish but expression concerned.

Owen chuckled that disconcertingly humorless sound that had goosebumps prickling up and down Chase’s arms. “She’s gay, man.” Chase’s eyes widened despite himself, but he also wasn’t… surprised. He kept that to himself as Owen continued, “She’s tellin’ everyone, so yeh’ll know soon ‘nough. We were eighteen, or seventeen, I can’t even ‘member when, but she told me and I _knew_ …” Owen choked out, red-rimmed eyes meeting Chase’s astonished gaze. “I _knew_ , Chase, ‘n I panicked. I messed up back then, ‘n I just kept messin’ up ‘n she kept cleanin’ up my messes. She’s never been scared, not Kat. But me? I’m the coward, I’m the fuck up who couldn- who can’t…” he broke off with a visible shiver. His eyes darted towards the group of older men, still talking loud and brash and familiarly.

And among them, Ramsey.

Chase’s eyes widened in understanding and he reached out without thinking, his hand settling on Owen’s meaty shoulder. The bigger man flinched, then shuddered. The picture of terrified confusion Owen made just before his face was hidden in his giant hands struck Chase like a knife to the stomach. He hadn’t had quite the experience as Owen, but he knew it. A little.

“Hey, c’mon. Let’s get you to my place, okay? My couch isn’t too uncomfortable and you can stay as long as you want,” Chase offered softly.

Owen shook his head, but didn’t lift his face from his hands.

“You know what they say about bartenders?” Chase asked conversationally, his hand still gripping Owen’s shoulder solidly. “We’re kinda like psychiatrists. And as a psychiatrist–” Owen snorted loudly, an actual laugh spilling from him incredulously. The sound had relief flooding through Chase. _That_ was Owen’s laugh again. Short and broken off, but Owen.“I don’t need your sass, Mr. Gravel. _As I was saying,_ being mostly a psychiatrist, I recommend… escapism.”

“Ain’t that what I been doin’?” Owen muttered thickly. Chase sighed through his nose and nodded his head.

“… point. But this time, you’re going to escape to _my_ place, where I can sow pearls of wisdom at your feet.” Another laugh and Owen’s hands dropped. There were teartracks on his puffy, flushed face, but his eyes weren’t so _dark_. Chase smirked, but he knew it wasn’t his usual patented ‘asshole-back-away-or-I’ll-cut-you’ look. (He’d also practiced that smirk in high school for _weeks_.) “And I’ll tell you about how I came out as bi to my parents. And some horror stories about my first date with a dude. He picked his nose. _During dinner_. At a _restaurant_ ,” Chase shivered in disgust at the memory.

Owen blinked owlishly. After a second, he glanced away, eyes hooded and mouth tight.

“Hey, look at me, Gravel.” Owen glanced back with his shuttered gaze. Chase rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying I expect anything outta you, and no one should force your hand. Ever. Not for any reason. Whatever you have to say or not to say, that’s up to you.”

Owen’s lips parted, the wind knocked out of him in surprise. “Yeh don’ think I should–”

Chase held up his hand. “It’s not for me, or Kathy, or even the friggin’ _Mayor,_ to decide what you should do about _your_ private business. You need to apologize to Kathy, I get it. You think you did something wrong by her, and it’s probably eating you up just as much as… well, anything else you might have going on,” he said delicately. Owen’s smirked crookedly, the self-loathing too easy to read on his face. “But that’s _all_ you owe anyone. You got me, Gravel?”

“I… I got you,” Owen agreed quietly. He raised a hand and, for a brief moment, laid it over Chase’s where it sat on his shoulder. It dropped away and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “So… that couch?”

Chase got to his feet quickly. He pulled his hand away quickly, shoving it into his pocket and curling his fingers into a fist.“Oh, thank the Goddess. If you needed any other happy-feely advice, I’d have to kick you out on your ass. I need to wash these up. You sit here and wait for me. That ass-kicking is not off the table if you bail out on me, you hear, Gravel?” he threatened, violet eyes flashing dangerously.

The smile he got was weak and trembling at the laugh, but it was a smile. “I hear ya.”

Chase gathered up the dishes to clean without looking back. He didn’t need to look to know Owen’s eyes followed him. For once, the weight of someone else’s expectant gaze wasn’t too heavy or irritating. And the urge to rescind his offer didn’t rise in the usual bout of regret that cracking under pity-pressure caused. He wasn’t even sure it had been pity that had prompted him to… to _care_. Nor was it even that implicated similarity between them. He had already reached out before the not-confession had happened, after all.

No, there was something about Owen Gravel that just… didn’t piss Chase off. It felt… _right_ to hold out a helping hand without any begrudging obligation attached. To do it because he wanted to was a new, unfamiliar feeling. What was it about Owen that didn’t get under his skin?

Chase was determined to find out.


End file.
